“Stop, I say!” yelled the other man, with bulging eyes, “I can feel the knife entering my skin. If I’m cut, I’m liable to get the erysipelas. By heaven, sir, if you make this automat cut me, I’ll have your blood!” The bartender, scenting a tragedy, ran from behind the bar and succeeded finally in pacifying the man with the stick. “It isn’t often those machines get out of order,” said the bartender as he returned to his post, “but when they do, it’s apt to make customers mad.” “They are automatic shaving machines, I see,” remarked Kearns. “Yes; and a mighty handy and ingenious invention they are,” answered the bartender. “You drop a dime in the slot and you get a light or close shave, as you may desire, and your photograph thrown in at the end of the operation. Did you ever try them?” “No.” “Then you ought to,” urged the bartender. “Never!” said Kearns with decision. “I find it bad enough to have my nose tweaked and my face bedaubed by a human, but never will I trust my life to any confounded machine of this character. By the way, you may serve up those drinks I ordered.” “Same?” inquired the bartender. “Yes; that was pretty good whiskey,” said Kearns. “What did you say was the brand?” “Imperial Court.” “And the other brand you have?” “Consolidated Trust.” “Well,” exclaimed Kearns, “I must say I don’t like your names. I am equally opposed to Imperialism and to Trusts. Between the two evils, I don’t know which to choose. However, as I have tried the Imperial brand, this time I’ll go in for the Trust.” The bartender gave the speaker a quick, sharp glance. Then he winked warningly and rolled his eyes in the direction of one of the tables at which two men were seated. These two men were intently watching Kearns and his companion, and as the former turned, following the direction of the bartender’s glance, both men hastily looked away and assumed an air of listless indifference. One of the men was small, with a blond mustache, blue eyes and a squint. His companion was tall, thin and dark. In the meantime, the bartender was preparing the drinks ordered. He served these and, their first thirst somewhat appeased, the travelers this time put down the glasses only half emptied. Kearns laid a fifty-cent piece on the counter in payment. The bartender picked it up and eyed it curiously. Then he laid it carefully away, not in the cash drawer, but among some small glasses on one of the shelves of the bar. “Let us have some cigars,” suggested the Professor. “Good idea!” exclaimed Kearns, turning to the bartender; “cigars, if you please.” His voice was pitched somewhat higher than usual and his face was slightly flushed. It was as if the two drinks he had taken had gone a bit to his head. Curious that a six weeks’ abstinence should make a man so susceptible!